His Private Nurse (5 page)

Merrily gaped at him. “A pool
under
the deck?”

Dale grinned. “Royce is nothing if not inventive, and he believes in making best use of the natural resources. Another builder might have come in here and leveled this spot before building. Royce had the house designed around the site. Besides, having the pool covered makes it usable year-round. Come on. Let me show you the rest of the place.”

Merrily followed, her amazement growing, as Dale led her around the house as proudly as if he owned it himself. “Does he run his business from here?” Merrily asked, looking around the cluttered office.

Dale shook his head. “Not really. He has an office downtown, and he usually drops in there several times a week just so the staff doesn't forget what he looks like, but he's usually out on the job sites. A lot of stuff winds up in here, though.”

“So I see.”

They moved on to the breakfast room, which commanded a sublime view, as did the large den and kitchen, which connected to the formal dining room through a sunken hallway. The kitchen, in Merrily's opinion, was the very heart of the house, and she couldn't disguise her eagerness to get in there and putter around. The cabinet bases and countertops were stone, the floor and cabinet fronts highly polished wood, the fixtures brushed steel and copper. A center island, over which hung a large wrought-iron pot rack laden with copper and cast iron pans, provided more than ample work space.

The pool, accessed via the garage or the sunken game room was a marvel. The space was open on two sides, but the framing existed for panels that would close it in during the weeks of winter. The massive deck above it was a marvel of engineering genius, but when Merrily stood at the top of the stairs and looked down at the distance Royce had fallen, a shiver crawled up her spine.

“A guy will be out tomorrow to put a gate at the top of these steps,” Dale told her. “Royce always meant to do it, but it was somehow overlooked during the building of the house, and he never got around to correcting that.”

“It's a miracle he wasn't killed.”

Dale nodded and said, “He might have died if not for Tammy.”

“His daughter?”

Dale nodded and looked toward the back of the house. “She apparently saw him fall from her room, and she immediately called 911 and me. Then she got a blanket, covered him and stayed with him until help arrived.”

“She did everything right. Must be a bright, brave little girl.”

“A troubled little girl,” Dale said.

Merrily waited for him to go on and, when he didn't, gently prodded him. “The accident must've been very traumatic for her.”

“Just one more trauma of many, I'm afraid.” He looked away then, hand sliding into the pocket of his slacks to nervously jingle its contents. Finally, he jerked the hand free and made an agitated gesture with it. “Look, you're going to find out soon enough so I might as well tell you. Royce's divorce was and continues to be extremely acrimonious, and that's had a detrimental effect on both his kids, but especially on Tammy.”

Merrily bowed her head, disappointment pulling at her. Somehow she had expected better from Royce Lawler. “That's too bad.”

“It's not Royce's fault,” Dale quickly assured her. “That ex of his is a walking pestilence in my opinion. She's done everything in her power to turn those kids against him. They've been locked in a bloody custody battle for the past two years.”

Merrily's head came up sharply. “He's trying to take the children from their mother?”

“He's trying to
protect
them from her. Pamela's just plain crazy.”

“Well, if that's true, then why has it dragged on all these months?”

“Because Pam is as smart and manipulative as she is nuts.”

Merrily wanted to believe that. She couldn't picture Royce being cruel enough to deprive a loving mother of her children, but she didn't really know him, and the luxury of this place merely served to point up that fact. Still, she was here to perform a service, not to judge. Shrugging, she turned away from the stairs and started toward the house, saying, “It's none of my business, I'm sure.”

Behind her Dale muttered something that sounded like, “It will be.”

He followed her into the house and was waiting in the kitchen when she returned from looking in on a soundly sleeping Royce. “It, um, just occurred to me that you're going to have to do the cooking.”

She brightened immediately. “Really? I thought there might be a cook.”

Dale shook his head and swiveled around on the stool to watch as she strolled into the kitchen. “The housekeeper comes in two afternoons a week, and a guy comes by every Thursday to take care of the lawn, but that's it.”

“Well, I guess I'd better take a look at the larder, then,” Merrily said happily, “see if there's anything I can cook.”

“Make a list,” Dale told her, “and I'll pick up whatever you need.”

Both the refrigerator and the pantry, as it turned out, were extremely well stocked. Still, she noted the lack of a few items. Finding a pad attached to a clipboard that hung just inside the pantry door, she jotted down her list, which she then presented to Dale. He glanced over it, eyes widening.

“Okay,” he said doubtfully, “but I'm warning you now, that Royce isn't going to drink herbal teas.”

Merrily chuckled. “Maybe not, but I will. And you might be surprised. In addition to having medicinal purposes, many herbal teas are quite tasty.”

“Royce still won't drink 'em,” he stated firmly.

“I think he will.”

Dale lifted both brows. “Wanna bet?”

She leaned her elbows on the counter, smiling. “I might.” He grinned, and suddenly she was struck by how handsome he was. Funny, but she hadn't noticed before. “What did you have in mind?”

“How about dinner?”

She considered that and nodded, flattered enough to be enthusiastic. Going out was out of the question, however. “I win, you furnish takeout,” she said. “You win, I cook.”

He stuck out his hand. “Deal.”

She placed her own hand in his, surprised by its size. He was so thin that he didn't look as large as he obviously was. Though taller than Royce, Dale had somehow seemed less substantial—until now.

“Shall we put a time limit on this wager?” Merrily asked brightly, taking her hand back when it seemed that he would go on holding it indefinitely.

“Good idea. How does a week sound?”

“A week it is.”

Dale shook his head, chuckling. “Like taking candy from a baby.”

“You think so?”

“I know my boy Royce.”

“And I,” Merrily said confidently, “know my herbal teas.”

Dale cocked his head then, studying her blatantly. Fi
nally he nodded. “Like I said, I know Royce, maybe better than he knows himself, and now that I know you a little, I think I understand better why he's so insistent that only you can help him get better.”

“Oh?” She couldn't for the life of her imagine what he meant.

“You, Nurse Gage, are more than a pretty face,” he said sincerely. “You have a very calming manner about you.”

Please, she smiled. “You can't pay me compliments like that and go on calling me Nurse Gage. Let it be Merrily from now on.”

He grinned. “My pleasure, and of course I'm Dale.”

“Thanks for all your help today, Dale.”

“Yeah, sure.” He slid the list into his shirt pocket. “But if there's nothing else, I have to get going.”

“We'll be fine,” she assured him.

“I'll be back around six with these things. If you think of anything else you need in the meantime, I'm numbers three, four and five on the speed dial. If you don't get me at the office or at home, try the cell, in that order.”

“All right. Thank you.”

“No problem,” he said, flipping her a wave as he strode toward the entry. “Oh, and when you concede defeat, I'd like a good steak.”

Merrily just laughed, feeling that she'd landed in a very good place and perhaps had made a friend, too. Looking around her, she sighed with satisfaction, then she got busy making lunch for herself and her patient.

R
oyce glanced at the syringe in Merrily's hand and grimaced. He hated the way that stuff made him feel, almost as much as he hated the pain and the weakness. Besides, if Pamela decided to send over the children this morning as he'd begged her to, he wanted to be wide awake and in possession of all his faculties. She wasn't likely to do it, mainly because she knew it would give him some peace of mind to see them, but just in case, he wanted to remain lucid.

“I'm not taking that stuff,” he told Merrily flatly.

She just smiled patiently and said, “We've had this discussion repeatedly.”

“It'll put me to sleep. I don't want to go to sleep.”

Sighing, Merrily sank down onto the side of the bed. “I understand that you don't want to be knocked out, but you need rest. As you get stronger, you'll naturally sleep
less. If we medicate regularly, you can spend your days comfortable but awake—for the most part.”

“For the most part,” he echoed doubtfully. “You mean, occasionally.”

“Every day will get better,” she promised, “but you know you need this, so why do we have to argue about it?”

“Arguing is better than sleeping,” he said, beginning to enjoy himself. She smelled good, his Nurse Merrily, lemon and vanilla, like the pudding she'd served him with dinner last night. He wondered what she'd say if he asked her to stretch out on the bed next to him. She began speaking again, and his gaze glued itself to her mouth. Watching her speak seemed to ease his pain a little. He suspected that a true kiss from her would be more drugging than any injection.

“Arguing is not helpful,” she was saying, “and that's what I'm here for, to help you. It's also why the doctor prescribed these injections.”

What a mouth she had, eminently kissable, absolutely luscious. He still remembered how it felt, even while out of his head and in pain, to press his mouth to hers. Just thinking about it now lessened the ache in his shoulder and leg. Better the doctor should prescribe her. “Why can't I just use the pills?”

“They aren't strong enough,” she answered, those luscious lips forming each word carefully. “Tell you what, take the injections today, without argument, and we'll try the pills tomorrow. Okay?”

At the moment he'd have agreed to anything that would have kept her talking. “No more shots?”

“Only at bedtime.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” he grumbled.

“I just want to spare you pain.”

“It's not that bad,” he lied.

She lowered her head, keeping her gaze fixed. “I know I look young, but do I also look stupid?”

He smiled, despite the persistent ache. “No.”

“Well, then.”

Resignedly he rolled onto his back and pulled his good arm from beneath the cover. He did hurt, and he was tired, and Pamela was not going to bring the children over. And he was having inappropriate thoughts about his nurse. Merrily swabbed his upper arm with a small square of alcohol-soaked paper, pinched the muscle into a bulge, uncapped the needle with her teeth and plunged the needle into his flesh. He didn't feel a thing and told her so.

“That's the point,” she said, deadpan, recapping the needle.

“Ha-ha. Nurse humor.” Smiling, she started to rise. Without thinking, he clamped his hand down over her thigh. “Don't go.” She froze, her delectable bottom poised a mere inch above the bed. The heat of her thigh warmed his palm and sent blood surging to another part of his body. He removed his hand, and she subsided. “Talk to me awhile,” he pleaded. “I'm tired of talking to myself.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Don't know. How do you like the place? Comfortable enough?”

“The house is fantastic, as you well know,” she told him with an appreciative smile. “I adore your kitchen.”

“Thanks. You like to cook, don't you?”

“I love to cook.”

“Me, too.”

“Really?”

“It's one of the things I'm missing most, frankly.”

“I thought you'd have someone to prepare your meals for you.”

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. When I was married, we had someone because she insisted, but even then I did all the cooking on the weekends.” He smiled, remembering. “I'd spend all morning making silver dollar pancakes for the kids.”

“She?” Merrily said. “You mean your wife.”

The sweet memory evaporated. “
Ex
-wife,” he corrected, shifting into a more comfortable position.

Merrily looked away. After a moment she said, “Well, you have a wonderful kitchen. In fact, the whole house is wonderful.”

“Wait until I can show you the pool.”

“Oh, Dale already has,” she said quickly.

Irritation flashed through him. Dale. “Has he?”

“Yes, he showed me the whole house, except for the kids' rooms.”

Royce tried not to grind his back teeth. He had asked Dale to help her get settled, not squire her around the house. “What else did he do?”

“Nothing much,” she answered blithely.

He turned his head, sure he'd heard something more in her voice. “I don't think I believe you.”

She raised both eyebrows, and then she laughed. “All right. He made a bet with me.”

Royce frowned. “A bet? About what?”

She leaned toward him, one arm braced against the mattress, weight held against the palm of her hand. “I'm not going to tell you.” With that she pushed off the bed and stood. “You need to sleep now.”

His eyes did feel heavy, and a lightness was creeping over him, but he wasn't ready to let go just yet. “Why won't you tell me what the bet was about?”

“Because it wouldn't be fair.”

“To whom?”

“Either of us.”

Us. “You mean you and Dale.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“What was the wager? I mean, the payoff.”

“Dinner.”

Royce narrowed his eyes. “He asked you to dinner?”

“No.”

He relaxed, and lightness swirled through him, invading his limbs. “Tell me.” His tongue didn't want to move properly.

“I will,” she promised, smoothing the covers with her hand. “In a few more days.”

He wanted to argue about that, but she stepped back, moving out of his sight. “Don' go yet,” he muttered.

She appeared again at the foot of his bed, her smile the sweetest he'd ever seen. “All right.” She walked over to the chair in front of the fireplace and turned it toward the bed. “I'll sit here awhile.”

“'Kay.” His eyelids drifted closed, too heavy to keep open. An easy sigh floated up out of his mouth. Merrily was here, and he could sleep.

 

Royce groaned, becoming aware of a stiff muscle in his neck and the all-too-familiar aches. Heavily he rolled to his back. Pain shot through his right shoulder. The blasted cast made it nearly impossible to lie comfortably. He'd have given half of what he owned to be able to bend his knee and flex his elbow. Opening his eyes, he knew at once where he was. Home.

“How did you sleep?”

His gaze shot to the side. Merrily. She had pulled the
rocking chair close to the bed and curled up there like a kitten, a magazine in her lap. He smiled. “Okay, I guess.”

“I guess. Since you slept through lunch. Obviously, you needed the rest even more than I thought.” She set aside the magazine and got up. “Hungry?”

He thought she looked good enough to eat, but he said only, “Starving.”

“I'll take care of that as soon as you take your medication.” Moving to the bedside table, she poured a glass of water from the pitcher she had obviously placed there earlier. She lifted the tail of her plaid cotton shirt and pulled a pill bottle from the pocket of her comfy jeans. Uncapping the bottle, she shook an antibiotic tablet onto the corner of the table. Next she helped Royce sit up and handed him the pill.

His head swam. His arm throbbed. He stared down at his palm. The oblong tablet looked as if it had been made for a horse rather than a human, and he remembered with a grimace how the things stuck in his throat.

“Do you need something for pain?” she asked.

He was hurting in more places than she knew at the moment. For one thing, his bladder felt as if it were about to burst. He slapped the pill into his mouth, took the glass of water that she offered him and washed the thing down. It felt like a brick in his throat. He handed back the glass and said bluntly, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Want the urinal?”

“Hell, no,” he snapped. “I want to walk into my own bathroom and use the toilet.”

“Will you settle for a ride into your own bathroom?” she asked lightly, going after the wheelchair.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope.”

“That's what I thought,” he grumbled, scooting labo
riously to the edge of the bed. She parked the chair next to him, and as she bent forward to throw the covers back out of his way, her shirt gaped open just enough for him to see the mounds of her small, firm breasts and the scrap of lace molding them. Suddenly his need elevated to extreme. He put his left foot on the floor and pushed up. Too quickly.

“Whoa.” She caught him around the waist, helping him get his balance and sustain it until his head cleared. For a moment he considered falling back onto the bed and taking her down with him, but the ache in his limbs reminded him how foolish and fruitless that would be. He pivoted and sat, dropping his left arm over his lap as she adjusted the footrests. Rising, she moved behind the chair and pushed him forward.

The chair rolled through the wide door into the cool bath, then turned into the shower room. He leaned forward, reaching out to push open the batwing doors with his good arm. A second set of such doors shielded the toilet. She helped him pull those forward so that they locked in place. “I can handle it from here,” he told her gruffly.

This was the worst part of being injured, the lack of privacy and the inability to take care of the smallest, most ordinary intimacies without assistance. Thankfully, Merrily sensed that. Without argument, she set the brake on the wheelchair. He lifted the left footrest with his good foot, then grabbed the batwing door and pulled himself up. Hopping on his left foot, he entered the alcove. Merrily swung the short, louvered doors closed at his back.

Leaning his good shoulder against the wall, he managed to shove down his shorts. Then he positioned himself in front of the toilet, balanced on his one good foot. Unfortunately, he was in no shape to take care of business at
the moment and his strength was fast waning. Closing his eyes, he tried to think tranquil thoughts, but the vision that popped up before his mind's eye was Merrily bending over his bed, her shirt gaping open to reveal the creamy mounds of her breasts.

Gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes and muttered, “This is what I get for hiring such a pretty nurse.” Something clattered loudly in the shower room. “Merrily?” he asked anxiously.

“Sorry. No harm done. I, uh, knocked over the towel stand.”

Realizing that she'd overheard him, he smiled. At least he wasn't the only one uptight at the moment.

Some minutes later, he was ready to collapse but, nonetheless, relieved. As he eased into the chair, Merrily appeared from the other room. She briskly wheeled him to the sink so he could wash his hand. He looked up into the mirror, shocked by his haggard appearance. Suddenly he realized that his teeth felt almost as fuzzy as his jaws looked.

“There's a toothbrush, comb and electric razor in that second drawer,” he said, indicating the cabinet. Merrily immediately went to fetch them. He brushed his teeth easily enough, but halfway through shaving the strength in his awkward left arm began to fail seriously. Without a word, Merrily took the razor from his hand and began applying it to his jaw. “You seem to have done this before,” he commented over the whir of the razor, noting that she held the shaving heads just right against his skin.

“One time my brother Lane broke his right thumb and sprained his left wrist trying to do a handstand. He was drunk, of course.”

“Ah.”

“Then there was the time Jody burned both his palms
on a hot car radiator. I not only shaved him, I brushed his teeth for a whole week.”

“And Jody would be?”

“My oldest brother.”

“Sounds like you've taken pretty good care of those brothers of yours.”

“Too good maybe,” Merrily conceded with a sigh. “You should have heard the fit they pitched when I told them I was moving out for a while.”

Royce lifted both eyebrows and asked, “Didn't you tell them it was a job?”

“Sure. They're just overprotective, that's all. Plus, without me they have to do their own cooking, cleaning and laundry.”

Wondering just how overprotective they were, he asked wryly, “Did Dale show you how to activate the home security system?”

“Yes, but I didn't think it necessary to set it unless we leave the house. Right?”

Stroking his now smooth jaw, he muttered, “As long as I don't have to fight off three angry older brothers. I'm not up to it at the moment.”

She snorted and began to comb his hair back. “As if. Lane thinks he's bad when he's drunk, but the truth is he's a mouse. Fighting's way too much effort for Kyle— I doubt he even knows how to make a fist. And poor, dull Jody, though he thinks of himself as on a par with our father, is all bluster.”

Putting the comb aside, she began cleaning the razor. She was nothing if not efficient, his Nurse Gage. Royce looked himself over in the mirror and decided he looked some better. “How come you're still living at home together?” he asked.

Merrily shrugged and began putting everything away.
“It's a patriarchal thing. My dad likes to say he's from ‘the old school.' Mom never worked outside the home, and he always insisted that he wanted his kids close because families are supposed to stay together, but I think it was more a matter of control. Now I suspect even he might agree that he overdid it a bit. When he retired, they bought one of those big motor homes and hit the road. They couldn't seem to wait to get out of here. Of course, he made me and my brothers promise to stay in the house and take care of one another.”